Human Remains

up and wheeled her away. I stood up, then, and went to a nearby table weighed down with dog-eared magazines. I chose three of the most gossipy and sat down again, wishing I’d brought a book so I could tune everything out. At the entrance a group of young men were loitering, getting increasingly loud. Security, having dealt with one awkward customer, were gathering like fluorescent vultures.
    Above the noise of the shouting youths at the front, a toddler that had been grizzling now expanded to a full-on piercing scream. It was a little boy, red-faced, stretching and squirming in his mother’s lap. His fine blond hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, his eyes wide. His mother shushed and rocked him without effect, tried with the dummy which came straight back out again. There was a merciful pause and I thought I’d gone deaf, but he was only recovering his breath ready for another shriek.
    I looked at the first magazine, tried to focus on the celebrity faces. I only knew who one of them was. I flicked through the magazine until I came across an eight-page photo spread which seemed to be about Elton John putting his bins out. I gave up and tossed the magazine to one side. The longer I waited, I thought, the less likely it was that Mum’s condition was serious. If she was in a bad way they would have seen me quickly, wouldn’t they?
    And of course, at that moment a nurse came out of the curtained area.
    ‘Annabel Hayer?’
    I stood up quickly, feeling faint as I did so but trying to look as normal as possible. ‘Yes,’ I said.
    ‘Hello,’ she said, already walking back the way she’d come in the expectation that I was following. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. How’s my mum? Is she alright?’
    She opened a door and stood aside to let me in. I thought it was going to be a small room but it turned out that it was a corner of the A&E treatment area.
    ‘Have a seat,’ she said. ‘The doctor will be in shortly.’
    And before I could ask her anything more she’d gone, shutting the door to the waiting area behind her.
    I stared out into the treatment area, trying not to cry. I wanted to call someone but for the life of me I couldn’t think of anyone. Who would I call? My only cousin, in Scotland? What could she do, from the other end of the country? Maybe I could ring Kate. But I really didn’t know her well enough, not for a crisis call like this one. She’d end up hating me even more than she did already. I had nobody. I was on my own.
    The screaming toddler (or maybe it was a different one; all babies sounded identical to me) was being dealt with somewhere behind a curtain. Over the wailing I could hear soothing tones, inflections rising and falling: ‘There you go! Good boy, what a brave boy you are. Soon be done. Nearly done now. Mum, can you hold his hand? Like that. Tight hold… Yep… There we are! That’s that bit all over with.’
    I heard footsteps, rapid, on the linoleum and a man came round the corner, dressed in a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, stethoscope around his neck, ID badge clipped to the breast pocket. He looked very young and very tired, but he managed a smile. I scrambled to my feet, my bag half-falling from my lap until I clutched at it.
    ‘Miss Hayer? Thank you for waiting. I’m Jonathan Lamb, I’m one of the doctors treating your mother this evening. Would you come this way?’
    ‘How is she?’ I said, trying to keep up with him as he stalked off. He led me down the corridor past several curtained bays, each one of them occupied. At the furthest one he stopped and waited. I was several paces behind him, breathless with the exertion even though we’d only walked a hundred yards or so.
    ‘She had a fall at home, I understand?’
    ‘Her neighbour rang me. I don’t know what happened.’
    ‘Just in here.’ He pulled at the curtain and stood aside to let me in. Mum was on a trolley, equipment and tubes all over her.
    ‘Oh, Mum!’ I said. I couldn’t help it.
    Behind me, Jonathan Lamb’s pager made a bleeping noise. ‘I’ll – er – I’ll be back in one second, and we can talk further. Have a seat.’
    I lifted Mum’s hand, heavy, hot, from the sheet that covered her. She was wearing a hospital gown.
I should have brought her a nightie,
I thought;
she
’
d hate that.
It was clearly too small for her. ‘Mum?’
    There was no response to the squeeze I gave her fingers. Nothing.
    I stood